


Meddling in Mycroft's Plans

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea is the Best PA, Awesome Molly Hooper, F/M, First Time, Mycroft IS the British Government, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 12:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6153928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt: Molly and Mycroft FINALLY deciding it’s time to consummate their relationship … but things don’t go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Relationships Are All The Same

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faviolaxd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=faviolaxd).



> For faviolaxd. I'm sorry it took SOOOO long!

Sherlock detested being summoned by Mycroft. It usually meant his big brother was going to be lazy and make him do all of the work. A deep sigh emitted from him as he sat up from the leather sofa in Mycroft's home study. The situation his brother was describing needed pacing; lots and lots of pacing. Deep in thought Sherlock began striding around the room in various straight lines.

Suddenly a tiny photograph in a silver frame on one of the shelves caught his eye. Sherlock stopped abruptly to examine it. The subject of the photo was Molly. She had been snapped giving the photographer "The Look." The look Sherlock received when he asked her to get him a dozen left big toes. The look that said, "You are crazy for asking but of course I will." Sherlock sighed again. Yes he knew Mycroft and Molly were dating. Yes he had given them his blessing. But still— he was the little brother and wondering just what had been said by someone else to get "The Look" he coveted so much was now driving him crazy.

"So you and Molly then—" Sherlock pointed to the photograph.

"Sherlock we are discussing something of vital national security— focus." Mycroft gave his brother a very stern stare as he looked up from the file he held in his hands.

"I know. We'll get back to that. You and Molly. Going alright?" Sherlock gave Mycroft a little fake smile.

Mycroft closed his eyes as he willed himself not to fly across his desk and hit his brother. After a lifetime of interruptions he knew the only thing he could do was to answer Sherlock's question, and hope there would still be time to get the help he needed. "Fine. Fine. It's all fine" Mycroft returned the fake smile.

"Remind me again how long you have been together?" Sherlock scrunched his nose while trying to remember.

"Three months tomorrow," replied Mycroft with a forced casualness. "Now, back to the matter at hand—."

"Of course! It's the 9 week photo!" Sherlock cut Mycroft off with a clap of his hands and bounded back over to his brother's desk.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, "And your point?"

"Nothing, just noting this relationship is following your usual pattern." Sherlock gave Mycroft a smug smile.

"What are you talking about?" Mycroft asked confused.

"You are so OCD you don't even know you are doing it."

"Doing what Sherlock," Mycroft was rubbing his face with his hands. "Do get on with it. I need your input on the Nordic situation problem, not my personal life."

"Shocking to think you don’t notice your relationships run like clockwork." Sherlock had turned his face upwards and began to speak with a far off look in his eyes,

“Weeks 1 to 3 have lunch with her every other day. Week 4, add in two dinners. Week 5 work takes you out of town, absence as they say, makes the heart grow fonder.”

With gritted teeth Mycroft watched as Sherlock counted the weeks off on his fingers.

“ Weeks 6-9 one lunch per week and four dinners. Also take a candid photo her and put it in your study; small but in an expensive frame. Make sure she notices it. Weeks 10-12 Keep up the lunch and dinner routine but add in one cultural night out -- theatre at this time of year of course.

“And at the end of Week 12—“ Sherlock flicked back a dozen sheets of paper in the stack on Mycroft's desk, pulling out a receipt for a very expensive piece of lingerie.

"which is tomorrow— dinner in a three-star, then you retire to one of the best hotels in London to consummate your relationship; not very creative but probably quite effective all the same. I do hope you at least take them to different restaurants and hotels. If not— tacky.” Sherlock gave his brother a very smug look.

Mycroft had to work extra hard to keep his expression neutral. He give no indication that Sherlock had indeed recounted the history of his relationship with Molly spot on. Taking a deep breath and with passive indifference only found in adult siblings answered simply, "So?"

 "Nothing," Sherlock shrugged, "Good luck for tomorrow. Hope it all goes well. Be sure to eat lots of carbs for dinner. They will help with your stamina. Maybe take a bottle of Lucazade with you for the break in the middle. Does she bring the orange segments or do you?"

"I am planning to have sex with Molly not play football with her." replied Mycroft dryly.

"Oh yeah. Right. Is there a difference? Must be. Perhaps you can draw me a diagram sometime. Look I've got to go. Something I have to do." Sherlock suddenly looked very preoccupied.

"Sherlock you can't leave now! About the situation," cried Mycroft holding up his folder.

"The car you are looking for is parked in a warehouse in Oslo. It has been repainted twice, black then blue. The contents of the glove box will lead you to the man you are looking for." And with that Sherlock turned around and headed back to Baker Street.

He had something very important to do and he didn't have much time.


	2. As The Weeks Go By

Although London currently boasts over 5,000 places to eat, using a sophisticated scoring system based on wine list, pedigree of the chef, atmosphere and health board checks there are actually only 17 restaurants on Mycroft's acceptable eating establishment list. 

It took Sherlock only 37 minutes to find the restaurant Mycroft had booked for tomorrow night. He then spent another 41 minutes ringing the other eateries Mycroft frequents to do some not so subtle arm twisting ensuring any future bookings made for Mycroft Holmes would be passed on to Sherlock-- immediately. 

Once he knew the place and the time of tomorrow's rendezvous Sherlock got down to the real work; unraveling all of Mycroft's hard work on the Nordic problem. 

By the next afternoon Mycroft found himself enveloped in a crisis threatening to erupt into a full-blown international incident. 

Sadly dinner had to be cancelled. 

The next three dinners followed the same pattern -- Sherlock was rung by the restaurant alerting him to a booking. He would "stop by" Mycroft’s office (on his way somewhere else vastly more important of course) just long enough to see what his big brother was up to. Once back at Baker Street he would spend the rest of the afternoon ensuring all of Mycroft’s efforts would disintegrate just before the dinner reservation.

‘So much for week 13,’ thought Sherlock to himself as he pulled out his phone and crossed off the third dinner in his calendar. 

The following week Sherlock found Mycroft’s office empty. An uncharacteristically relaxed Anthea let him know Mycroft had been called away to the EU crisis talks. There was no way her boss would be setting foot back on English soil for at least 6 days.  Hardly able to contain his glee Sherlock pulled his phone out in the back of the Black Cab taking him back to Baker Street. “Week 14 gone!” Sherlock noted in his calendar. 

Week 15 found Mycroft back from the Continent, in a foul mood made worse when he found out Molly was scheduled for the late shift all week. Simply seeing her was going to be challenging and dinner was certainly out of the question. Lying on his couch sighing contentedly Sherlock pulled out his phone and noted “Week 15 GONE!!” Sherlock added two exclamation points --this little prank of his had progressed far further then he could have ever imagined. 

Next came an honest-to-goodness international crisis – no one saw it coming— not even Sherlock. Mycroft was working overtime— he didn’t have time to eat at his desk — let alone with his girlfriend.  As the week came to a close Sherlock laughed out loud as he looked at his calendar and wrote, “Week 16— Nothing!” 

This was unprecedented.

//

When the dust settled on the crisis Mycroft rang Sherlock and asked him to come over. For the first time in years Sherlock didn't resist. In actual fact he was desperately curious to see how Mycroft had been coping. 

Truth was Mycroft was not doing very well at all. While he could weather the ups and downs of his professional life, he was finding the disruption to his personal life most disturbing.

As Sherlock settled into the sofa in Mycroft’s house he observed a brother who was a nervous wreck. It was quite obvious Mycroft could barely keep his mind focused; he was slow to answer even the most basic policy questions. 

After a cursory discussion on the Spanish issue, the actual reason for Sherlock's visit, Sherlock causally asked, "How are things with Molly? All progressing to plan?"

The flood gates open, Mycroft began to vent. 

"No. Unfortunately it is not progressing. In fact for all practical purposes we have stalled -- not managing to make it past week 12." Mycroft was looking furious. "I keep setting up dinner and then duty calls at the last moment. None of the work I am doing is getting me anywhere. Every time I turn around there is another crisis for me to deal with."

Frustrated Mycroft pushed his chair back from his desk. "By now I should already be planning our first proper holiday. A photograph of Molly and I enjoying our second dirty weekend should be in this frame." Mycroft picked up an empty silver frame from the corner of his desk for emphasis.

"Our relationship is now four weeks behind and it will never catch up." Mycroft put his head in his hands. “I can’t take much more of this.” 

Sherlock looked at his brother. This was quite probably the most defeated he had ever seen Mycroft. For a fraction of a second Sherlock felt sorry and contemplated not interfering with tonight’s dinner plans finally letting nature take its course. 

Sherlock tossed this thought out almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Little brothers don't ever feel that much empathy. 

//

 

Molly was just putting in her second earring when her phone rang. Mycroft had already rung to say any he was running 10 minutes late so she wondered who it could be.

"Molly, now that you boyfriend has cancelled dinner on you for the 6th time in a row can you let me into the lab tonight?"

"Um yeah sure. I'm just in the middle of something. Give me 45 minutes?" Warning bells went off -- how did Sherlock know how many times Mycroft had cancelled dinner on her? And how did he know that Mycroft was about to cancel on her again.

There was a weak knock on her door. Opening it Molly found a very sad Mycroft who was looking like he was going to cry.

"It's the ambassador from Portugal. One of his children has been in a fight in a nightclub and it has caused an minor, yet significant, incident. Sorry is no longer an adequate response for you Molly. It is now painfully obvious that I am married to my job leaving me no room in my life for you. Here,” Mycroft held out the thin, rectangle box tied with a silk ribbon to Molly.  “I hope you and your next boyfriend will enjoy this garment as much as I hoped we would."

Taking a deep breath Mycroft stoically continued, "It is unfair on you to continue with this farce. You deserve someone significantly more attentive than me Molly Hooper. I wish you a happy life."  

Mycroft gave Molly a chase kiss on the cheek before quickly ducking out the door without looking her in the eye.

//

A very subdued Mycroft Holmes spent the night in New Scotland Yard dealing with a stroppy teenager and his hysterical parents.

//

After Mycroft left, Molly tried on the negligee, admiring Mycroft's ability to at pick out a garment that suited her so perfectly.

The rest of her evening was spent sitting in her office texting Anthea while Sherlock happily played in her lab.


	3. Things Are About To Change

It had been a long time since Anthea had seen Mycroft in such bad shape.

Arriving late with an air of defeat about him Mycroft had retreated to his office, and ignored all attempts of conversation for 45 minutes.

Feeling sorry for him Anthea brought a fresh cup of tea with one sugar and his favourite pastry to their 10am meeting.

Taking a deep breath Mycroft asked quietly, “Anthea. I realize this is a of a personal nature but— could you please— Last night— I might have given Molly the impression I no longer wanted to be in a relationship with her— and now Molly isn't returning my calls— or my texts. The CCTV— she isn't at work— she doesn’t appear to be at home. I've made a mistake—”

"Don't worry sir. I'll clear your schedule as best as I can. The afternoon meeting with the PM is necessary but As soon as you finish you can go home. Hopefully I’ll track down Molly and she will be willing to join you." Anthea gave Mycroft a confident look

"Thank you," replied Mycroft quietly.  

An hour later Anthea knocked gently and entered Mycroft’s office.

“I have spoken to Molly,” the words caused Mycroft’s head to snap up, his eyes hopeful. “Apparently you agreed to look after Toby while she is away.”

“Did I?” responded Mycroft with a sigh and a frown.

“She seems to think you have.”

“Did she say anything else? Did you explain my actions? Did—“

“It was a short conversation.” Anthea twisted her wrist to look at her watch. “It would be in your best interest if you go deal with your cat-sitting duties now. You have plenty of time before the PM arrives.”

Mycroft was too busy grumbling about having broken up with someone and STILL having to look after her cat as he put on his coat to notice the ever-so-slight smirk on Anthea’s face as she tidied up his desk behind him.  

Opening the door to Molly’s flat Mycroft  desperately wished he could take back all he had said last night. After giving Toby a fresh bowl of water, a quick scratch behind the ears and filling up his dry food bowl Mycroft sat down on the couch and closed his eyes for a moment letting his head drop back as he inhaled the scent of Molly's flat committing  it to memory in case things— well— just in case.

Someone softly clearing her throat in front of him caused his eyes to snap open and him to sit up instantly. His jaw dropped open at the sight of Molly, wearing the pewter coloured negligee he had given her the night before, standing in front of him— with the addition of matching robe and kitten heels.

"About what I said last night-- I'm sorry--" blurted out Mycroft when he regained the ability to speak.

Molly held up her hand to stop Mycroft in mid-sentence.

“I have made some decisions about our relationship Mycroft.” The tone of Molly’s voice was strong, leaving no doubt that things were about the change drastically. He braced himself for what was about to come next.  

"There are actually three of us in this relationship: you, me and your job. And as much as I would like it to be different—it is obvious your job gets more of your attention than I do.”

A very guilty look crept across Mycroft's face; Molly spoke the truth. 

"I've decided things have to change."

Gritting his teeth Mycroft steeled himself for the breakup speech. He only had himself to blame and he deserved every spiteful word she spat at him.  But to have it delivered in the negligee he had bought— Molly was not playing fair at all.

"If we assume your job is your wife, you certainly can’t have another one--

Mycroft swallowed hard waiting for the final chop of the guillotine on their relationship

Having moved to standing directly in front of Mycroft, Molly hiked up the lingerie exposing a whisper of the lacy matching panties before she moved to straddle him.

He was in agony, wanting to wrap his arms around her, aching to devour her. But she was sitting on his lap breaking up with him. Sadly he knew he deserved this cruelness.

She moved to whisper in his ear "--so I've decided to become your mistress," before she gently sucked on Mycroft's earlobe. 

A moan coupled with a gasp escaped his lips, "ohmygod.” 

"As your mistress ... things will be different.” Molly placed a trail of soft kisses down his neck.  “You don’t have to worry about fitting me in after work, because when a meeting cancels in the middle of the day, I’ll be there to shag you on your desk under the portrait of the Queen." Gulping hard Mycroft tried not to whimper.

"Also next time you go out of town on a business trip I'm going with you. Anthea has already applied for my security clearance."

No longer able to control himself Mycroft pulled her roughly into a deep kiss.

"And be warned,” panted Molly as she pushed him away and grabbed her phone. She quickly took a very seductive shot of just their bodies-- her sitting on his lap; the bulge in his pants clearly visible. “When you hear a text arrive in a very, very, important meeting, it’s going to be me sending you a sext –to remind you of what you are missing while you are with your “wife.”

Mycroft’s breathing became laboured at the thought.

"Your next meeting starts in 55 minutes, we best get going,” groaned Molly as she unashamedly pulled at Mycroft’s belt and unzipped his trousers.

// 

Mycroft returned to his office 53 minutes later, slightly limping, a guilty smile on his face and hair that Anthea needed to run a comb through before the PM arrived.

//

"Where was this taken?" Sherlock was frowning as he picked up a photo of Molly and Mycroft standing in a market with fresh spices in huge cone shapes.

"Istanbul"

"But you went to Istanbul for work last week? Why was Molly there?"

"Perhaps I decided to take her with me."

"But you never take your girlfriends on work trips."

Mycroft simply smiled at Sherlock and shrugged his shoulders. Sherlock was right. There was never any time for girlfriends on business trips— but mistresses on the other hand...


End file.
